Sleepless
by a true Elsewhere
Summary: After being poisoned in his second year, Harry falls into a sleepless limbo only to wake up years later, older and changed. Harry must now deal with his indifference and the coming of Lord Voldemort.
1. Prologue: In the Shadows

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Sleepless  
by a true Elsewhere and Mizu  
shell@wishing-blue.net, tokiya_ensui@yahoo.com  
  
  
Prologue: In the Shadows  
  
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There were voices. From silent and wispy voices that whispered like a sweet caress on a lover's cheek to loud and angry voices, screaming, pounding out heated commands to him.  
  
Indeed, there were many voices.  
  
_Come here_, they would say, deep and ominous.  
  
_Come here… _They lashed out to him, trying to grab hold of all that he was.   
  
_Come here and stay with us forever._  
  
He stood, a figure unable to camouflage himself within the abyss of gray shadows, listening to the voices. Voices he'd heard since the day poison tried to invade his mind as it did his body.  
  
_Come here…_ They prompted him again, urging him towards them. He had grown weary of their repetitive request.   
  
"I'll think about it," he replied, smirking. The voices faded away until he was engulfed by silence that was eerie yet delightful. That seemed to hold them off for a while, he thought. Really, he didn't know why the voices called out for him in such a manner; all he truly wanted was some quiet time—some quiet time to wait for a visitor.  
  
"Really now, I'm flattered," a voice cut through the choking stillness, sharp and piercing. "You didn't have to dismiss them just for me. I don't mind observers during our intimate conversations."   
  
"I didn't do that for you. I was getting a headache," he bit out with contempt, disgusted at the fact that he would even think he would do something, let alone anything for him. "Don't make yourself too happy. You're the only person in this dark forsaken place that has more wit than a rock to talk to around here and one does get bored talking to voices that only know how to say _come_."   
  
The voice laughed harshly. "So how long has it been? Two? Three years?"   
  
"Three years, two months, seven days, seventeen hours, six minutes, and twenty-six seconds," he said with another smirk. "But hey, who's counting?"   
  
The voice laughed again, voice steely. "I'm glad to know you've been making use of your time." A familiar smirk. "After all, what can you do when you're stuck in limbo? _Count_?"  
  
He scowled. "And whose fault was that?"   
  
"It was your choice to do what you did. Don't be childish. Besides, don't you just adore our conversations together? I find them intriguing. I find you intriguing." The dark voice, his words, his phrases brushed up his spine in a cold chill. He glared into the shadows.  
  
"Go throw yourself into a dung hill, you piece of trash," he said angrily, turning his back to the voice.   
  
But the voice did not heed his wishes.   
  
It never did.   
  
"But I do find you intriguing. We are one and the same. Our likeness _ intrigues me greatly_," the voice said smoothly, like milk tracing the edge of a cup.   
  
"I don't like you, so how could I be like you? That'd be self-hate," he said succinctly, narrowing his eyes.  
  
He could hear it then, the laughter, harsh and cynical, resonating in the air. "But self-hate can be such a…useful tool."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It can drive you to do certain…things. It is an excellent source to fuel your ambition."   
  
He paused, silent for a moment.  
  
"You see, we are the same. I can feel it coiling around in you, around your soul, as it was always supposed to. Let it go. Let all of it go."   
  
"Let…it go?" He seemed uncertain as he stared at the shadow that got even thicker.   
  
"Yes, yes. Let it go…" The voice pressed. It was growing weaker, fading away as darkness crept in and around him more and more. He was going to be alone again, he had realized; the voice was leaving him. He didn't know what to think of that. It was merely a whisper before he heard it again.   
  
"_Let it go and find yourself._"  



	2. Chapter 1: The Boy Who Played Sleeping ...

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Sleepless  
by a true Elsewhere and Mizu  
shell@wishing-blue.net, tokiya_ensui@yahoo.com

Chapter 1:  The Boy Who Played Sleeping Beauty

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It had been awhile since he had seen the light; that bright existence that was always present in the atmosphere as if it were the most important thing in the world.  But it wasn't as glorifying for him as he found it difficult to get used to.  After being in a world of shadow forms and dim grayness, the light felt very blinding to him.  

He woke up a few days ago, shortly before one of Hagrid's seasonal visitations.  Harry had been struggling to focus his eyes to get a glimpse his surroundings.  It was when he discovered that the reason why the world seemed blurry must have been because he didn't have his glasses on.  Harry was groping around for his glasses when Hagrid had walked in and roared out loudly in surprise—loud enough to shake the room and send paint chips flying to the ground.  Soon after, a gaggle of doctors and nurses entered the room, locking the giant man out, and began to poke and prod at Harry.  They still did that though, surprised at his ability to withstand the deadly poison that had entered his system.  

He hated the doctors.  They were always picking at him and running tests as if they knew what they were looking for.  But annoying as the doctors were, the people that annoyed him the most were the reporters who somehow managed to sneak into his room at St. Mungos.  "How did you survive getting bitten by a Basilisk?"  They would ask him, their quick quills ready to jot down anything he said.  Harry would always shrug; he himself didn't know the reason why he was able to survive a bite by that overgrown snake he confronted at the end of his second year at Hogwarts.  He only recalled telling Ginny Weasley to hurry and get out of the sewers with Ron, but nothing more as he slipped away into the icy depths of limbo.

But Harry knew it was because of _him _that he continued to exist.

_Sweet irony, Harry thought bitterly.  The one person who would try to kill him would be the same person who would be his salvation.  When poison coursed through his veins and tainted his blood, the person who wanted him dead the most was the one who saved him from the hands of death.  He recalled the precise moment when life seemed to end for him.  He also remembered the precise moment when _he_ pulled him back from that doom.  _

_He didn't know how important you are to me,_ the voice had explained to Harry about his younger self who had set the deadly basilisk on him.  _You are very important to me…_

He looked down at his hands and wiggled his fingers.  They certainly seemed a little larger than before he fell into the coma.  He pulled out a hand mirror from the night table drawer next to him.  Peering cautiously at the mirror, he tried to coax his moppy hair to lie flat, but it stubbornly stayed tousled in spiky clumps.  

"Someone slept in," his reflection said wryly, raising a condescending eyebrow at him.  "Now you'll never get that hair of ours down."  

Harry scrunched up his nose and said, "It never did behave.  You and I know that by now."  He heard his reflection give one loud 'hmph!' before he placed the mirror back in the drawer.  He had been looking at his reflection every day since his awakening.  He looked at his reflection, desperate to see if there was any change in his features, but found none.  Albeit, he looked a couple years older, but he was still a skinny, scraggly youth making his way through puberty with a lightning scar on his forehead.

"Harry!"  Hagrid roared, bearing a big, familiar smile on his face.  Apparently he managed to shove his way through seven doctors who were comparing notes by the door.  They looked slightly bewildered, lying on the ground with their glasses askew.  

"Harry, how d'yeh feel?"  Hagrid asked, touching his shoulder as gently as he could.  Harry flinched at the contact of Hagrid's hand upon his body.  Hagrid didn't notice.  

Perhaps it was because Harry had been away from civilization for such a long time.  Human touch just didn't seem…natural anymore.  Perhaps it was because that the touch of another was now too foreign to him.  Perhaps it was because the only thing that came in contact with him other then his bed and sheets were the sterile metal wands that doctors poked at him.

 "Okay, I guess," Harry said finally, pushing his glasses up his nose.  He slid off the bed easily, landing on the cold floor with a soft thud.  Hagrid reached to catch him, knocking a sickly looking Venus flytrap from the hospital gift shop from the bedside table.  The Venus flytrap wriggled on the ground, lifting its head up with a desperate attempt to sit upright in its tiny pot.  Harry returned the Venus flytrap back onto the table, to its relief.

"It's all right, Hagrid.  I'm not made of glass, you know," Harry said a little too coldly, not bothering to look over his shoulder at Hagrid.  Hagrid seemed oblivious to the chill in Harry's voice and smiled sheepishly into his bushy beard.  "Jus' makin' sure yeh're alright roun' the edges.  I'm askin' if I can take yeh home now.  Merlin's Beard!  I've got stories for yeh on th' way back!"  Hagrid started walking toward the doctors who were already filing out of the room, tending to some of the bruises Hagrid accidentally inflicted them when he sent them flying into the air.  

The word _home_ dragged Harry's thoughts back to reality.  And, for a moment, Harry was horrified.  "Wait!  Hagrid!"  

Hagrid turned around, skeptical, but still smiling that familiar smile Harry found oddly comforting.      

"I…don't want to go back to the Dursleys," Harry said very slowly, quietly.  He picked up the pace.  "Hagrid, there's two weeks before class starts again.  Can't I…Can't I stay at Hogwarts?  Or with you?  I promise I won't break anything."  He knew he sounded desperate, and hated himself for it.  

Hagrid looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, "Well, it's against school rules…"  His eyes twinkled as he gave Harry another grin.  "But when did Harry Potter ever keep school rules in th' first place?  I'll see what I can do for yeh."  

Relief washed through Harry as the edge of his mouth twitched.  He wanted to smile, truly, but for some reason the action felt unfamiliar to him.  Perhaps his muscles were still lax from the coma.  "Thank you," he said politely, remembering basic etiquette.

Hagrid left to speak to a doctor, leaving Harry alone for a while.  It was as if a great weight had lifted from his shoulders.  Upon his awakening, the doctors who came in to examine him treated him as if his recovery was a medical miracle.  Harry didn't know what to say to that; he already had enough of being 'The Boy That Lived.'  Surviving basilisk poison couldn't help but sustain that title.  

The media wasn't helping that either.  The day before, he had picked up a copy of Daily Prophet and couldn't figure out what shocked him more—the date or the headline that read "The Boy Who Played Sleeping Beauty Wakes Up!"  Underneath was a picture of him looking thoroughly disoriented at all the flashing cameras around him.  

With the arrival of doctors and reporters, Harry's contact with unfamiliar faces put him on edge.  He thought that perhaps a familiar face would help him ease into the wizarding society again.  Unfortunately, to Harry's distaste, he was wrong.  Hagrid's visitation felt equally, if not more, tense.  

Harry glanced up to see Hagrid peering over his shoulder.  In his massive hand, he held what seemed to be a suitcase.  

"I've got yeh all packed an' ready ter go," he said cheerfully, as if they were about to embark on an extended trek through a dragon den.  Harry smiled weakly.  The act itself pulled at long-unused muscles painfully.

Harry began looking for a suitable pair of pants and shoes to wear from the suitcase Hagrid brought to him.  Trudging into the bathroom, he took one glance at Hagrid, who gave him another cheerful grin.  

"Hurry up!  I'm goin' ter take yeh home."    

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They traveled to Hogwarts using floo powder.  Harry wasn't too keen on floo powder very much, recalling the last trip through the floo network landed him in a shady area of Diagon Alley.  Thus, as he stood in front the overlarge fireplace in the hospital common room, he wondered why they couldn't fly their way to Hogwarts instead.  Flying was something he was always good at.  

Hagrid replied with a quick "no", telling him that it was too risky and unsafe for him to fly.  Harry attempted to convince Hagrid that he was in sound physical health. Hagrid responded that the journey was too long to spend flying and that they were going to go to Hogwarts through floo powder.

An entourage of people had gathered around him, trying to look inconspicuous by having animated conversations with one another.  Harry picked up a handful of floo powder from a brass pot on a stand next to the fireplace.  He could hear the people around him whisper, gossiping as they decided to outright stare at him instead.  Harry sighed, wanting to get this floo powder business over with.

Hagrid nodded at Harry once, indicating that he should leave first.  Harry threw his fistful of powder into the crackling fire, watching it as the flames instantly turned a bright, floo-green color.  He stepped into the fireplace, wishing very much that he was on a broom instead.

He took a deep breath, expecting himself to land somewhere in Egypt.  "Hogwarts!"

The next thing he knew, Harry was flying out of a fireplace at Hogwarts.  He fell to the stone ground, and bodily rolled down the floor until he made a complete stop in front of velvet curtains.  

"Too much floo powder," he grimaced, bracing himself with sooty hands.  He peered up into twinkling eyes through half-moon spectacles, and a white beard that could have been used as a winter scarf.  

"Hello Harry.  It's been a while."     


	3. Chapter 2: The Boy Who Lived, Lives Aga

**Sleepless**  
by a true Elsewhere

_Chapter 2: The Boy Who Lived, Lives Again._

"Hello Harry. It's been a while."

Harry stared up at the white haired elderly wizard as his lanky, pale body (still malnourished form the lack of real sunlight he had received in the sterile hospital room at St. Mungos) was sprawled on the ground, sloppily.

Harry hated floo travel. He hated it more now than he did before and the fact that he could feel part of his rib arch from landing like a heap mess on the ground was more or less not helping his remove his dissatisfaction. It also didn't help that Harry had felt weak and sore already. His body easily tired from various tasks, it was a toll from not using his body for the past two years.

Professor Dumbledore extended his hand out to help the young boy up to his feet. Harry stared at the old man's withered up warm that protruded in front of him and couldn't help but shudder. For some odd reason, the last person he wanted to touch him was Albus Dumbledore. Sometime inside of him clammed up at the thought of letting this all-knowing wizard of an unknown but fairly high age touch him.

Harry proceeded to get up off the ground by himself.

"Hello Professor," Harry responded to him awkwardly, as his body felt heavy as he attempted to balance himself up on two feet. His eyes, like two polished emeralds renowned to look like his mothers, were finally getting a really good look at the Professor. The old man looked older, line of age was more highly defined on him and his hair the same long unruly mess that it was before. His eyes still twinkled, all-knowing with a slight of Gryffindor mischief in him.

Harry soon noticed that a certain burry giant was no longer behind him, pecking at him like a mother hen. "Where is Hagrid?"

"Ah, Harry. This is not the only fireplace that Hogwarts possesses. I suspect that Hagrid has found himself routed to another fireplace somewhere in this castle. He should arrive again shortly." Dumbledore answered his question. A translucent figure, hidden behind the heavy velvet curtains, was waiting for his moment that was ideal for him to leave his hiding place. He couldn't help but conclude that this was as best of a moment as any. With that decision, he shot up through the heavy curtains and next to Professor Dumbledore with a large grin.

"I just meet him in the kitchen. Tripped him good I did, he barely even knew what hit him. He fell down with a loud thud (knocking over a few house elves and a couple dozen pots and pans) and cursed my lot he did, curse me real good. Would have made me worried for a second, that is, if I wasn't already dead, you know?" Peeves said, before switching subjects. "Well now, if it isn't Harry Potter. So you aren't dead at all. Moaning Myrtle was convinced that you were going to inhabit the bathroom with her in due time. Shame, you would have been great partner, we could have done great things you know, great things…"

"Great things!" A loud voice rumbled in the room. "Ya googling ghost, there ain't anythin' good ta what ya do. 'arry's best alive and well lik he shud be."

"Sorry 'bout that 'arry, wud have come here quicker but Peeves here…" Hagrid glared at the ghost, who took the half-giant's open dissatisfaction as his cue to leave. Of course, he did make sure to knock down a few chairs before he fully disappeared through the walls. Dumbledore took his wand out from his shirtsleeve and waved it about, fixing up the chairs that Peeves had just unceremoniously felled.

"Thank you Professor, for letting me stay at Hogwarts." Harry thanked. "I really am grateful."

"It was nothing my boy," Dumbledore responded with a smile. "This time is a perfect time for us to talk too. You do know that your title as the Boy Who Lived has once again been reaffirmed. I never heard of someone surviving Basilisk poisoning before, especially to the extent of poison that was in your blood circulation. But mostly, I wanted to ask about…"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, and shook his head. "Ah, but it could wait for another moment. Come Harry, I'll show you where you'll be staying until your classmates join you."

Harry nodded, relieved that he didn't have to tell Dumbledore anything just yet. No, he wasn't ready to tell the white wizard about how it was _he_ that saved Harry from death or why he did it. Not when he wasn't even sure about the answer to that question himself.

"_Mysteries are what excites and dooms us."_

Harry frowned.

* * *

"The Defense Against Dark Arts Professor has volunteered to be your guardian for the remainder of the summer," the headmaster told him while leading him to his temporary home before the start of the school year.

A chill ran down his spine at the mention of the DADA professor.

"It's not Lockhart is it?" Harry asked, unable to stomach the idea of staying with the frilly, egocentric Defense instructor form his second year. The man was a fraud, stealing stories from wizards and witches, erasing their memories, and then publishing their exploits in books and claiming it as his own. He couldn't help but warm up to the idea (though only slightly) of changing his mind and staying with the Dursleys instead of with the pompous fool. Given the way his second year turned out, he would probably be left to answer the man's fan mail from love struck witches. At least with the Dursleys he wouldn't be spoken too. Lockhart had a habit of talking about the only topic that interested him: himself.

"Ah, Lockhart," Dumbledore said. "I nearly forgot he was your professor when you were at Hogwarts. No, child, I'm afraid your old professor had a mishap with a broken wand and a memory spell that has left him unable to continue teaching at Hogwarts."

Although Dumbledore spoke it in a sympathetic tone, the white wizard was twinkling. Harry took it that Dumbledore had also realized how inept the other man had been in teaching. "The Defense professor currently is a Mr. Remus Lupin. He was a rather close friend of your fathers back in their days at Hogwarts."

Harry's ears perked up at the mention of James Potter. "My father's friend? Really?"

"Ah yes, Professor Lupin is one of the inseparable four that your father was apart of. During his days at Hogwarts, he, along with your father and two others, spent much time together just like the way Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger and you do. However, they were more prone to mischief making and left behind a legacy."

The mention of Ron and Hermonie made his heart squeeze up in a strange way. He had received owls from them after his revival at St. Mungos. Though they had really wanted to, both of them were unable to visit him at the hospital during his time of recovery. Currently, Ron was spending time with his family in Romania; he was hanging out with his brother Charlie and his dragons. Hermonie's parents had to go to a Dentist convention in the States and had taken her with them. Though they weren't able to meet, the both of them had promised to go to Diagon Alley with him a week before school started to get some school supplies.

Lost in thought, Harry didn't notice that Dumbledore had halted right in front of a portrait until he found himself breaking quickly in order to not run down the elderly wizard before him. Harry managed to stop himself just in time to prevent any collision.

The portrait of a knight, by the name of Sir Wellington, in full suited armor. He was using his lance as a leaning post and had abandoned his head piece in the river that flowed through his scenery. His slightly wavy hair was frizzy at the ends, his armor had a bit of a rust on it, and overall, he looked rather bored, yawning every few minutes until he had taken notice of the two that stood in front of him.

Summer break had always left the castle idle and lonely for company.

"Greetings Headmaster, Harry." The knight said while straightening up a bit. "Professor Lupin had asked that I let you two in when you arrived."

The door swung open with a "clank".

"Thank you Wellington," Dumbledore said with a smile before making his way through the entrance, Harry followed after him. Wellington shut close the door back from behind them before reclining against his lance some more before contemplating if he should ask for some polish for his rusting suit of armor.

Harry's temporary guardian's new place was decorated in Gryffindor colors. Red and gold splashed itself throughout the Defense professor's living quarters. Remus Lupin had a collection of books organized neatly in a slightly beat up bookcase that ranged from some Defense books to some contemporary wizarding literature to some books on magical creatures and werewolves. He also had a sort of cabinet to store his potions that were neatly lined up in its storage.

After surveying the room, Harry was disappointed to see that there weren't any photographs sitting anywhere in the room. He had been searching to possibly find any pictures that the defense instructor might have with his parents in it (he had a photo album with their pictures in it but since he had been in a coma for so long, he wasn't sure where his stuff had went, though he did plan to ask about that soon).

Harry found it a bit odd that the Defense Against Dark Arts professor was not greeting them until he had taken notice to the form that was sleeping in one of his chairs. The main was pale and frail looking, with slightly messy hair and a light snore. There was a book open in his lap, probably one he was reading until he fell asleep.

Dumbledore placed a hand on the professor's shoulder, gently rousing the tired man. The sleeping professor jumped up from his seat, surprised. The book that was once in his lap tumbled out of it's position and into the plush carpet. His hand quickly reached for his wand, stopping once he caught sight of who it was that was there.

"Oh," He said, his tense shoulders loosening up. "I apologize; I must have dozed while reading…"

"No harm done Remus," Albus said, pulling out his want to levitate the book that had fallen and then moving it so that it was on the small stand that was next to Lupin's seat. "I was just bringing Harry here to stay with you."

"Ah, yes, that was today…" Remus said softly before taking real notice of the other boy in the room. The professor's stormy eyes examined him, looking at his figure, his scar, his eyes, and his scent. Harry couldn't help but feel a slight chill run down his spine at Lupin's examination of him. Soon the DADA instructor closed his eyes, his breath a bit more heavy, and his tone nostalgic.

"His scent is the same but a bit different from how he use to smell…" Remus said softly, his eyes lingering on the scar, the obvious perpetrator to Harry's change he believed. "And… we use to tease James about how Harry didn't look much like him when he was a baby, although now it's obvious whose child he is, with his looks and his eyes…"

"He's very much like both his parents," Dumbledore said in agreement. "Though he is more like his mother when it comes to his personality then his father. I must be leaving you two. I have a meeting with the Minister of Magic soon. I'm sure you two will get along with another."

Harry and Lupin bid their farewells to the wizard who returned their sentiments before leaving the two of them behind as he went to his meeting. Strangely enough, Harry couldn't help but feel tired after that bit of walking he did to get to Professor Lupin's wing. It wasn't as though it was such a long walk, but for some reason flooing and walking exhausted the little energy he had. Especially since he still hadn't adjusted to being awake and being _alive_.

"Let me show your room," Lupin said to Harry, noticing signs of fatigue on the boy's face.

"That'd be nice, Professor Lupin." Harry said.

"Call me Remus, Harry. Either Remus or Moony," the professor requested of him, "You use to call me that when you were young…"

"Okay… Moony." Harry said, finding that the name rolled off his tongue easily because he knew he probably said it over and over again when he was younger. Remus looked a bit relieved when he complied to his name change, obviously recalling memories of the past better than he was.

His bedroom was a moderately sized bedroom with a bed, a desk, and familiar objects furnishing the room. A snowy owl hooted from her cage on top of a dark trunk that he had bought many years ago; the owl was flapping her wings in excitement as she sees her owner for the first time in many years. There was a familiar wand, sitting in a box on top of the roll top desk that he nearly forgot that he didn't have.

Now he needed to go through his trunk to see if everything he had was still in there. With the intent of going through his trunk, a hand reaches up and fusses his hair a bit. "Go to bed first; you look like you want to sleep standing up. Your stuff can wait for tomorrow."

Hedwig hooted in agreement.

Minutes later, Harry found himself in bed, dead asleep.

* * *

_I had a good page and a half written like, a year ago but never did anything more to it because Mizy was suppose to do it. However, she was just as stumped on it as I was. Then I drifted out of the fandom and now I'm back into it so I decided to hurry up and write more of this fic because I really like it. Sorry if it's not really grammatically strong. I'm just way too lazy to find someone to proofread things for me. _


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